Full Moon
by RedCyanide
Summary: It's a local legend. The castle is haunted." Paul frowned, shuddering involuntarily. "But...I've been invited here."...Comashipping
1. Chapter 1

**This is a slight crossover between Pokémon and the legend of Dracula. **

**--**

The carriage stopped suddenly, the Ponytas braking the ground with their strong hooves. The night spread across the valley, the sun sinking slowly beneath the rugged line of the Carpathian Mountains. The door of the carriage flew open and the teamster, a chubby, blonde man, jumped outside, swearing hotly at horse Pokémons, which had thrown a fight.

"Stop, you damned animals!" he caught the harness, but the fire horse jerked away, ripping it from his hand and pushing the others aside. The man's hat fell off his head and landed on the moist ground. Another volley of curses fell above them. The door creaked open once again and a slender teenager stepped outside. He brushed a lock of purple hair off his pale face with an elegant move, watching slightly impressed the peaks of the mountains, colored in crimson by the setting sun.

The man had finally calmed down the Ponytas and was clutching the harness, afraid that they'll fight again. "Does this happen all the time?" the purple-haired said, a hint of coldness lingering in his rough, deep voice. The man fished his hat from the ground and placed it on top of his head.

"Only when they're going up there." He answered, beckoning up towards the path. Paul sneered. This was getting more and more interesting. A Zubat soared towards the black sky with a screech and the Ponytas tensed, squirming. The man's grip on the harness tightened to keep the Pokémons calm. Paul watched the bat until it disappeared into the dark skies, then turned to the man.

"Why, if I'm not being impolite." The man scratched his head under the hat right when a howl erupted from the depths of the forest, clouds of Zubat rising towards the endless darkness. The Ponytas neighed stirringly, pulling at the harness. The man tensed his muscles, fighting against the force of the horses.

"It's a local legend." He said, retrieving the hat which fell again when the fire horses jerked him. "The castle is haunted." Paul frowned, shuddering involuntarily.

"But, I've been invited here." The man looked at him like he was a crazy person escaped from the madhouse. Then he burst out laughing.

"Invited?" he choked. "By who?" Paul shrugged, playing with a stone-cut crucifix, held by a chain across his neck. His father gave it to him before he died and he was wearing it everywhere, every time. His finger traced the sharp edges of the cross. "He said…his name was Ash." He whispered, confused.

The man rolled his eyes. "Ash?" he said, incredulously. "You are the victim of a prank, boy. Nobody lived in that castle for centuries." Paul raised his head to the moon, which began to gain luminosity on the ink colored sky. Who would want to hoax him? It made absolutely no sense. And if there was actually somebody inside that castle, he wanted to find out why he called him.

"Anyway, I'm still going there." He said, decided. The man crossed himself, passing the harness from his left hand to the right one.

"This teenagers and their hunger for adventure." He mumbled to himself. "Well, you'll have to go up there by foot. I'm not taking them there." He pointed to the horses, which began to fidget again at the remote howls of the Mightyenas. Paul rolled his eyes. _'Coward' _

"Alright!" he said. "See you later." The man crossed himself again. "That if you'll ever get back."

Paul rolled his eyes again. _'He's just trying to scare me.'_

_--_

His eyes burst open suddenly.

All he could hear was his own heavy breath resounding inside the empty room. All this time trapped there, between the thick stone walls, alone. His fist hit the wall with force, making the bricks vibrate, plaster falling out them. It didn't hurt him. His body couldn't feel any pain, and sometimes he was regretting this. Sometimes he wanted to hurt himself, to keep himself busy with something.

All these years trapped inside. _'I'll finally break out.'_ His mind was tired. He would sleep, but he couldn't. He knelt on the red, dusted carpet and slammed his fists into the stone floor. Again, the only result was dull sound. All his frustration, tiredness and sorrow morphed into a sound of a body hitting stone. He raised his head towards the portrait of _him _and smirked at it.

"You'll see soon." He said, his voice cracking. "I'll show you all of my power."

And he knew it wasn't his imagination when the portrait _smirked back at him._

_--_

Paul smirked at the sight of the high towers. He had finally arrived. The Bran Castle, the jewel of the Carpathians was rising proudly in front of him, like a statue of a hero, teething its impressing silhouette on the velvet-clothed sky. At the light of the moon, Paul could see the huge, carved oak front door and the small windows. There was no light inside. The man could have been right: nobody lived there. A Zubat landed on the roof of the highest tower, screeching sinisterly.

Paul approached the huge door. It had no handle. Paul pushed it, sure that he wouldn't ever impel it. Much to his surprise, the door opened slowly, soundlessly. He expected it to creak awfully. Unsure, he stepped inside. The light of the moon sneaked inside, revealing a long hall. The floor was covered with a green carpet from the front door to the stairs that could be seen on the opposite part of the hall. There where torches on the stone wall, but they weren't fired. Also there were lots of doors leading to other rooms of the castle. He looked around. Still nobody.

"I'm glad to see you finally came." A soft, low voice said, making Paul jump violently. His elbow hit the door and everything was overwhelmed by darkness.

--

**Should I continue? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, I decided to continue this story. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**--**

Flames shone in front of Paul's black eyes; the figure was lighting the torches. The warm light was dancing on the cold walls, plaiting odd forms with their shadows. At the light of the fire, Paul examined the figure. It was a teenager, the same age as him or maybe a bit older, with messy ebony hair. He was slim, slender, his skin was as white as milk and it seemed so soft. It looked like it was made of marble. His eyebrows were thick and his full lips were always curved into a slight, seductive smile. But his eyes attracted Paul the most: they were as black as the sky in the middle of the darkest night. They were cold, but something was burning inside them when they fixed him.

"I thought you got lost." He said, looking him right in the eyes. "Or you got attacked by an Ursaring. There are a lot of them down, near Braşov. But they are just one of the reasons you shouldn't go alone in the forest." His voice softened.

Paul began to lose his patience. "Who are you?" His smile went wider and took a step closer to him. Paul was aware that his back was pressed against the massive door.

"You already forgot." He let out a low chuckle. "My name is Ash. Does this ring a bell?" Paul frowned.

"You called me here." He said, pressing his back harder against the oak wood as the stranger got closer to him. His black eyes were fixing him so intensely that he turned his head to the side.

"Yes, it was me." He said. Paul startled, he was so close that he could almost feel his cold breath hitting is face. He raised his head to look into those hypnotizing eyes again. They were so strange, cold, lifeless. Ash's arm stretched slowly to touch his face, but stopped suddenly. Paul watched his face expression morph into one of pure hate and, somewhat, fear as Ash looked at his chest. Unsure, he brought his hand to it and his fingers met the cold stone cross of the chain. Much to his surprise, Ash hissed and stumbled backwards.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked, gripping the crucifix tightly. He smiled slightly.

"No, everything is alright." He turned his back on him and ran the back of his hand along the walls. Paul observed a painting he haven't seen the first time he looked around the hall. It looked like a coat of arms: a blue shield with a crown above it. On the shield was a black eagle standing on top of an oak tree. To its left was the sun and to its right, the moon. The weird thing was that on top of the crown was a cross, and the eagle was holding one in its beak as well. Ash backed off when he saw Paul's cross, but there were paintings with crosses on the walls.

He heard steps behind him. "The castle is very old." Ash said. _'And I've been trapped inside all these years' _He clenched his left fist.

"Come on. I'll show you your room." Paul quitted looking at the walls and followed Ash towards the stairs. Ash was right: the castle was very old. You could tell that by the way the wooden stairs where carved, by the heavy curtains that where covering the windows and even by the frames of the paintings. However, there was something about it that charmed and scared Paul at the same time. The silk curtains were moving slowly, like the wind was blowing gently through them, but the all the windows were closed. The walls were adorned by portraits and white flags with the same black eagle on top of a tree, this time holding a mace in its beak. The portraits were so beautifully painted, they almost looked alive. Paul could swear that he heard whispers coming from inside the portrait of a beautiful young lady dressed in a white gown.

He stopped in front of it. She was so beautiful, with her brown curly hair tied in a bun to the back of her neck, two locks framing her wax-colored face. Her big blue eyes were looking at him innocently and her full lips seemed to tremble, even though they were just an image on a sail. The silk, white gown was embracing her form, showing her round breasts and curved hips. Paul wanted to find out who she was, but there was no inscription on the frame or underneath it.

Ash noticed that Paul had stopped in front of the painting. He hissed. He must not talk to them. He was his, not theirs. Without thinking, he grasped his wrist and pulled him violently, without warning. Paul gasped. His hand was terribly cold, colder than the stone walls. He could still feel it around his wrist, even though Ash had let go of it immediately.

Ash hissed furiously. He forgot. He couldn't touch him as long as he had _that thing _with him. He looked at his palm; it was throbbing. It had burned him like he had put his hand in fire. It was a flaw. They had weaknesses too.

Paul watched Ash clench his fist and turn his head towards him. "Don't talk to them!" Paul frowned.

"What do you mean?" he asked confused. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to talk to some paintings?" Ash snorted.

"I have seen the look on your face. She was seducing you." For a moment, Paul thought he sensed a shred of jealousy in Ash's voice, but he shrugged it off.

"It's a painting!" he said, desperately. His desperation grew when Ash chuckled. He didn't know what was so funny about it, but it was exasperating him.

"You heard her whisper." It wasn't a question. Paul scowled. Was he crazy? He was hearing painting whisper at him. But Ash was hearing them, too. Well, he was the one who told him to not talk to them. He had her image printed on his mind: how alive she looked, how her lips seemed to tremble, the whisper coming from the inside.

"The castle is haunted." He whispered, remembering what the man had said. Once again, Ash chuckled.

"Ghosts haunt." He said simply. Paul looked at his back. No, it must have been a joke. Everybody around here was mad as a hatter. "I don't understand." He said. He couldn't see, but Ash smirked. "You'll understand. This way."

Paul stopped suddenly, looking at what seemed to be some very narrow steps cut into the wall. The walls were different here: they weren't daubed and they seemed blunt, like something had crunched them. Paul hesitated, and Ash saw this.

"This is the secret passage." He said. "It's a shortcut towards your room." Paul began going up the stairs, careful not to touch the walls. At the top of the stairs, Ash showed him a door right in front of the hole that opened the secret passage.

"Here's your room." He pushed the door open, letting Paul step inside. It was a nice room with a single window, covered by a curtain. In the corner was a bed covered with blankets, a fireplace, a nightstand and a small table with two chairs. The room seemed warmer than the rest of the castle and there were no paintings on the wall, except the coat of arms Paul had seen down, in the hall, which was hanged above the fireplace. He walked and sat on the bed. He didn't even realize how tired he was.

He looked up surprised when Ash put a plateau with food on the table. "It's for you. I bet you're hungry."

Paul sat on the chair and looked at him. "Why don't you eat with me?"

Ash smirked. "No, thanks! Not now…"

--

**Reviews are welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

--

The sun has already risen above the peaks of the Carpathians when Paul woke up in the heat of the blankets. The room was still dark; the small window and the heavy curtains were blocking the light. Paul yawned, wanting to fall asleep again, but he remembered where he was and jumped off the bed. The room was empty; Ash wasn't there, but the plateau he brought last night disappeared. He must've taken it after he fell asleep.

Paul stood up and walked to the window, parting the curtains slowly. The castle was surrounded by mountains covered with thick conifer forests. Above them were roaming lots of flying Pokémon: Pidgeotto, Fearow, Staraptor, in search for food. He ran his fingers through his thick, mauve hair, combing it and looked at the door. He didn't know what to do: wait for Ash to come or go and look for him. Maybe Ash thought he was still sleeping and he wouldn't want to wake him up. He led to the door, his fingers tightening around the cold handle. He should go and look for him.

The door opened with a creak and Paul slipped outside his room. He shivered; it was cold on the hall, his room was really warm. He approached the hole in the wall and looked through the secret passage which connects the first floor to the third. No sign of Ash. Paul returned on the hall, looking along it. Nobody is sight.

The floor was covered with a red carpet with flowers and leaves embroidered on it and the windows were bigger, allowing the sun to light the walls with its rays. However, it was still cold. The walls were covered with paintings. Paul wanted to leave without looking at them, but they were tempting him, and the temptation was too powerful for Paul to handle.

He approached a big portrait which showed a woman. But she was much more different than the woman he has seen last night. She had an authoritative, powerful, proud air which was intensified by the beautiful crown she was wearing on her head, surrounded by black curls of hair. Her blue eyes were determined, yet kind and she was not smiling. She was wearing a silk gown with three golden stars on the right side of her chest, like military decorations. Pearl necklaces were adorning her delicate neck, and she also had a pearl ring on her finger and pearl earrings. Her skin was pale, so pale that it seemed that it was made of pearl too. Under the wooden frame was an inscription: Marie of Edinburgh – Queen Consort of Romania.

Paul looked at her, charmed by her powerful attitude. He stretched his hand to touch the sail, but he was stopped by a faint hiss running through the hall. He drew his hand back quickly. Whispers. The same whispers that he heard when he looked at the girl's portrait. He closed his eyes, listening to them. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he felt like they were soothing him, healing him.

A small creak made him open his eyes. A door was opening. He hasn't seen that door before. He walked to it and pushed it slowly. It was room, a bit bigger than his room. There was a bookcase filled with old books, carved tables and a fireplace. The walls were full of paintings. They were only portraits, except for a big painting near one of the windows which looked like a genealogical tree. There were many people, from young girls to soldiers, but one picture caught his attention. It was bigger than the others and was placed above the fireplace. It showed the image of a relative short man with eager eyes. His sharp face features and determined look showed an incredible fierceness. He had long, black curly hair falling on his shoulders and an ebony moustache under his sharp nose, covering his top lip. On top of his head was a red hat. A hat which the impressive, proud man was wearing like a crown. A golden eight pointed star was placed on it right in the middle of his forehead and in the middle of the star, a square ruby. Above it, five platinum circles.

Underneath the oak wood frame was an inscription, just like under the queen's portrait: Vlad the Impaler - 1431 – 1476 – Prince of Wallachia. Just like the others; it seemed alive. It seemed to breathe; his piercing eyes were sparkling. Paul looked under the inscription and froze: seven letters painted on the bricks with what looked like dry blood. Seven reddish-brown letters: DRACULA. He felt shivers run through his body like thousands of spiders crawling beneath his skin. He forced himself to quit looking into those cruel eyes and turned towards the bookcase. There were a lot of books written in a language Paul couldn't understand and the other ones had titles like "The Uprising" or "Descriptio Moldaviae". However, a title caught his attention: "The legend of Transylvania." He extracted the book with difficulty, carefully and opened it.

The pages were yellowed by the time. The introduction was short.

'_Some may say that Transylvania is one of the most beautiful regions in this world, gifted with spectacular mountains, thick forests, a big variety of Pokémon and, especially, the Bran Castle, the most impressive and beautiful castle in Transylvania. But, beside all these things, there is also another reason why Transylvania is famous in this world. Many people say that it's because of the Pokémon, some of them say it's haunted, but only a few know the real reason why people go to the castle and never get back. Night creatures with an enormous thirst of blood. Vampires have been roaming through the castle for centuries, since their ruler, the ruler of the Wallachia region, Vlad the Impaler, son of Vlad Dracul, have been killed. It's said that he had created them while he was ruling Wallachia, most of them being poor peasants. People tried to fight them, but without success. They are still among us and this is the history of a man who created a dynasty.'_

Paul let the book slip off his hands. It landed on the floor with a loud _thud_, but he didn't bother to grab it. He was shocked. Vampires. Everything made sense now: Ash was scared of his cross and refused to eat with him. And all those whispers coming from the paintings…the paintings, they had been vampires. People tried to fight them…they had been killed or chased away by peasants. And Ash was the one who stayed.

"Do you have fun?" a soft voice said and Paul turned around sharply. He froze when he saw Ash standing in the door frame, looking at the book which was lying on the floor. He didn't seem angry or anything, and Paul was encouraged by this. Also, the cross was still hanging above his chest; Ash couldn't do anything to him as long as he had it with him.

"I know what you are." He said. Ash didn't say anything. He walked in front of the picture of the ruler. Seeing that he doesn't say anything, Paul continued.

"He created you, right?" Another pause. Ash gazed thoughtfully at the fireplace before answering.

"Not directly." He said. "But he is the father of us. You already know that." He beckoned towards the book, then turned his head towards the inscription, looking at it with hunger dancing into his black eyes before bowing his head in respect. Even though, to Paul, it looked like a mock respect. His eyes went wide when he heard a noise like a harsh breath coming from the paintings. Or was it just the wind blowing at the windows?

"It's quite funny how naïve human beings are. The letters were just some traps." He let out a low chuckle. Paul tried hard to ignore the murmur of the portraits and concentrate on what Ash was saying.

"So you have lured lots of people to the castle." He said. Ash turned towards him, the hunger in his eyes reviving. Paul took a step backwards, frightened by the intense stare that Ash was giving him.

"Yes." He said nonchalantly. "But you, my dear," he accentuated the words, pleasure lingering in his soft voice, "are something…special. I can feel that." The whispers became louder, more intense. A smirk spread across Ash's full lips. He enjoyed the sounds they were making. He enjoyed hearing them fret. He knew they were furious, but harmless. He sneered at the portrait of the Prince. Even him, the greatest of all, was harmless.

"What do you mean?" Paul asked, but the answer never came. Ash preferred to watch the portraits with a triumphant smile on his face. The whistles grew even louder. Paul could distinguish words.

'_Human…it's such a shame…to be killed…in eternity.' _Paul backed off towards the windows. He was feeling safe in the light, but even the sun itself seemed to shine less. Ash saw him.

"Don't be afraid of them." He said, taking a step towards him. "They cannot hurt you. They are just memories. They are not here." Paul looked at all those pale faces of the vampires in the paintings.

"But you're still here. You chose to stay." Suddenly, Ash went stiff, gritting his teeth.

"No." he said, his voice rougher than before. "I did not choose that. I've been trapped here, alone. There may still be somebody like me. Maybe one of them," he pointed to the paintings, "is still somewhere outside. I don't know." Ash sighed.

"Why have you been trapped?" Paul asked, but once again Ash did not answer.

"And you, _Paul_," Paul shivered at the way Ash pronounced his name, "can help me get out."

Suddenly, one of the windows burst open with a deafening sound. The wind ripped off the red curtain, lifting it towards the ceiling. Ash watched it float. He had never seen them so furious. Paul was stoned. Ash smirked at his frozen face.

"I told you, you shouldn't be afraid of them." But Paul wasn't listening. He backed off more, his elbow hitting the big frame of the genealogical tree of the Basarabs, which fell with a loud _bang, _the glass shattering in contact with the stone floor. The wind stopped as suddenly as it began. Ash watched the curtain fall and the shards scattered all over the floor.

Yes, they still didn't want him outside.

--

**Reviews are welcome! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

With a small screech, the Golbat made its way through the iron lattice that was blocking the window and began to fly in circles across the small room, searching for something to eat. Paul raised his head towards it, visibly annoyed.

"Get lost." He mumbled. The bat threw him a bored look, flapping its wings and landed on top of the fireplace. Paul turned his head. Everything was going out of control. He was stuck inside the castle with some portraits who want to kill him and a vampire. Paul shuddered. Ash was beginning to frighten him, not only because he was a vampire, but also because, just like him, he was stuck inside and because he, in a way which he didn't know, was going to help him get out. He was frightened by the way Ash pronounced his name: with pleasure, lustfully and by the way his eyes were burning when he was looking at him. He was looking at him like he was something very delicious that he must taste.

The candle placed on the table was slowly melting away; the warm flame began to gleam, making the light dance on the walls. Paul thought of standing up and lighting another one when the door opened slowly. Ash's slender silhouette appeared in the doorframe, holding a small candle in his right hand. His face features were highlighted by the light of the candle and Paul couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, his skin as white as the wax, and how much grace he had when he was moving. His fears flew away and his eyes narrowed in desire when they trailed up and down Ash's lithe form. The boy placed the candle on the table next to the other one and turned to Paul. The Golbat which was standing on the fireplace screeched and flew away through the lattice, but none of them paid attention to it.

Ash smiled kindly towards Paul, trying to make him forget about what happened inside the portraits' room and to get him to trust him. He got to gain his trust to carry out his plan. _'And I'll finally be free.' _

"So what do you want from me?" Paul asked directly. He hasn't forgotten so easily what happened. He couldn't be bought so easily only with that smile. He didn't want to be used by Ash. Ash smiled sadly.

"You don't trust me, do you?" he moved towards the window, looking intensely outside, even though it was pitch darkness.

"No, I don't!" Paul answered angrily, looking at his back. "Why should I?" Ash let out a chuckle which was driving Paul insane.

"I don't know if you observed this," he said, without looking at him. "But the others would have killed you. If you want to get out alive, you have to trust me."

"What makes me sure that you won't kill me after we get out?" Paul said, still looking determined at his back, silently daring him to turn around and look him in the eyes. "What makes me sure that you won't listen to them?" Ash let out another low chuckle.

"I have listened to the voice of rationality way too much. I'm going to carry on with my lunacy." Paul frowned.

"You disobeyed them, that's why they locked you here." He said and startled when Ash turned around sharply, giving him the deadliest glare somebody have ever given him.

"It doesn't matter how I got here." He said, his voice hoarse. "That's none of your business. Trust me and we'll get out of there alive." Paul nodded. The look in Ash's eyes changed suddenly, regaining that burning flame. His full lips twisted into a seductive smile. "It's full moon tonight." He said, his voice low, soft.

"What's with that?" Paul asked grumpily.

"Take that off and I'll show you." Paul's white fingers tightened the cross. He didn't want to take it off; it was the only thing that was keeping Ash away from him. It was like a halo which was protecting him of the vampire and he didn't want to lose it, but Ash's voice was so tempting. "Trust me." He had said. Slowly, he pulled the chain over his head and placed it on the nightstand. He was vulnerable now, but it was enough for Ash.

"Come on, throw it." He pointed towards the window with his head. Paul hesitated with his hand above the chain. A sane human wouldn't do this, but Ash's voice was so warm. _'Trust me. Trust me.'_ He gripped the cross and almost floated towards the window. No, this was completely insane, but his hand didn't listen to his head, stretched and pushed the lattice. He felt Ash's burning eyes examining him. Without thinking again, he dropped the cross.

He watched it fall, fall and disappear into the darkness. There was no barrier between him and Ash. Ash smirked, showing for the first time a pair of pearl white, razor sharp fangs. He had won.

'_You're mine.'_ Paul startled when Ash's ice cold hand caressed the crook of his neck. He tried to back off when Ash's mouth drew dangerously close to the skin of his neck, but his grip was firm. His lips touched it and Paul cringed, but nothing happened. "Trust me." Ash whispered, raising his head. Their lips connected, Paul's whole body shivering. His embrace was cold; it was like he was sinking into snow, freezing him to the core. His brain was numb; the only thing that he was aware of was Ash's plump lips being pressed against his with a burning passion.

Ash broke the kiss to examine the teen's face, who was looking at him through his half-closed eyelids. "Ash." He murmured. He was limp in Ash's strong arms, like the kiss he gave him has drained all of his energy. Ash drew his thumb across Paul's lips. "My beloved." He whispered in the shell of Paul's ear. Paul stretched his hand and cupped Ash's cold cheek, but Ash removed it. Gently, he caught his chin and pushed his head on his back. Paul tried to grudge, but Ash comforted him.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." His lips pressed against the pale skin of his neck and Paul struggled. Uselessly. Ash's grip was powerful. His mouth opened wider and in a brief second the fangs pierced the skin. Every muscle inside Paul's body tensed and he let out a small yelp of pain. Blood oozed immediately from the wound, but Ash sucked it, licking his lips slowly, lustfully. He looked at Paul's handsome face, now peaceful, his eyes closed.

"Don't worry…"

-------

"Poor boy. I told him not to go there." A chubby, short blonde man said, turning face up a purple-haired teen which was lying on the ground, inside the courtyard of the castle. He startled violently at the sight of two holes in his neck, covered in dry blood. It looked like a bite. "Oh my God." He crossed himself quickly. "Mihai, come and take a look at this." He shouted behind him.

"What is it?" a tall boy said, irritated. He looked like 19-20 years old and had ebony hair and piercing blue eyes. "I have to take care of them, they could run away." He pointed down towards the carriage and the Ponytas which were neighing and pulling at the harness and halters, trying in vain to escape.

"Look at that." The man pointed at Paul's neck. "What could it be? Crobat…?" Mihai froze while looking at the bite on the boy's neck. How could that happen?

"Should we bury him?" the blonde asked. The teen moved his gaze from his neck to his face, noticing a smear of blood above his lips. If it happened to him what he thought it happened, that was not his blood. His mouth twisted into a grim smile, which faded immediately to cover his own sharp fangs. He escaped.

"No." he replied. "Leave him here." Suddenly, a loud noise was heard from the valley, accompanied by sounds of horses. The man stood up. "Hait, they're leaving!"

Mihai took a last glance of the body of the boy.

'_I'm sorry you had to go through this.'_

--

**This is the end, but don't worry, there's going to be a sequel!**

**BTW, Mihai is pronounced Mee-hi**

**Reviews are welcome!**


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